were seeking temporary relaxation from the exercise, scattered in groups here, there, and everywhere about the spacious building.

Out into the long balcony, where the silvery moonlight lay softly as dew upon the flowers, George Marshall led the way, with the young girl clinging timidly to the brave strong arm, that for months had known no tenderer touch than the cold, cruel steel of the musket, the constant companion of the cadet in the military course just closing.

They passed in silence through the corridor, and at last stood at the eastern end that overlooked the sea, stretching her arms around the child of her bosom, the devoted Queen City.

George Marshall, always taciturn, was now painfully silent. His brain, always quick and clear to comprehend a problem in Legendre, now seemed beclouded and sluggish. At length, embarrassed by the oppressive silence, Lizzie endeavored to arouse her companion by remarking,

"Are you fond of the sea, Mr. Marshall?"

Still gazing eastward over the deep, he replied abstractedly:

"Do you mean, am I fond of sea-life? If so, I answer most emphatically, No. There's but one life in this world that attracts me"--and here his manner grew constrained as he continued--"but one, and that's the life of a soldier. I love military life and service, and when my course is finished--which time is near at hand--if I am successful, as I hope to be, I shall offer myself to my country, and await impatiently her refusal or acceptance of my humble services. But I beg your pardon, if my enthusiasm has led me away from your inquiry. I only like to look upon the sea; its grandeur in a storm, and the peaceful repose that follows, excite my admiration, but that's all. It's something too treacherous to love."

"You fear the water, then," asked Lizzie smiling.

"Look to-night, if you please," was the answer, "at the soft silver sheen that covers its beautiful blue bosom, and imagine, if you can, such peaceful water engulfing a hapless bark within its silent depths! Oh no; I only admire the sea as a part of God's wonderful creation. But, Miss Heartwell, there's something just visible in the hazy distance that I do love; it's old Defiance. You see the lights of the old fort twinkling far off on the water? They stir within me the martial spirit, and seem to beckon me on to an unknown, but longed-for destiny. It may be fancy, yet there has been a peculiar feeling toward that old fort ever since I first became a cadet at the Citadel. Why do you frown? Do you object to my enthusiasm?"

"By no means," replied Lizzie quickly; "but, strangely as it seems to fascinate you, it has always repelled, and even terrified me. It's the only object of the beautiful harbor that has ever cast a shadow across the loveliness of the sea. I hate it; and I have often wished the sea would draw it silently into its hungry depths, and leave no trace of it behind."

George laughed.

"Your fancy amuses me," he said. "It would never do to obliterate old Defiance, for then the enemy, should they ever come, would find easy access to the Queen City, and ruin and destruction might follow."

"Well, I guess my wishes will be unavailing in the future, as they have been in the past; and as I leave the Queen City to-morrow, old Defiance will fade from my sight though not from my memory, for a long, long time. So for the present I wish it no ill."

"Indeed," replied George Marshall in surprise, "do you leave the Queen City to-morrow--so soon?"

"Yes, I go by steamer--by the Firefly, that leaves to-morrow for the port of --, in my native State, and from there to Melrose, where I live."

"At what hour does the steamer leave?" inquired the young man thoughtfully.

"At six P.M., uncle tells me."

"And you leave so soon--six P.M. to-morrow?" he asked. "Maybe I am selfish in monopolizing you so long, Miss Heartwell. I have two friends you must know before the evening closes--Edwin Calhoun and Emile Le Grande. Have you met them? The dancing has ceased again, and we'll look them up."

"Thank you."

"Before we leave this moonlit spot, however, Miss Heartwell, I beg that you make friends with old Defiance, for my sake, and recall that cruel wish concerning him," he said playfully, and with an arch smile.

Lizzie replied, "For your sake, I will, and for yours only;" and throwing a kiss across the silvery sea, she said, "Take that, old fort, as a peace-offering."

The winds sighed and the sea murmured as they turned to rejoin the revellers, and that sportive kiss was borne away on the wandering breeze.

The revelry must end. Madam's love-bound pupils must be separated. The adieus must be spoken, but there must be no tears; that were a weak and indecorous manifestation of feeling, in madam's estimation. Blandly bowing her stately head, and kindly congratulating each upon having "finished," and finished well, madam gracefully waved them out of her presence, into the future, with a gentle motion of her jewelled hand.

"I shall see you to morrow, Lizzie," whispered Leah Mordecai, as she passed from the seminary escorted by Emile Le Grande.

"Certainly, at any hour, and do not disappoint me. Remember it's the last day."

All were gone. The stars twinkled faintly in the sky. Every light in madam's great house was extinguished, and all sound of that evening's revel hushed forever.

CHAPTER X.

THE morning sun threw its ruddy beams, warm almost to tropical heat, through the half-closed casement of Leah Mordecai's apartment, and the intrusive light opened the dark, dreamy eyes to consciousness. The hour was late. Toil-worn and languid from hard study and the relaxing climate, Leah rested in her bed reluctant to arise.

"It's all over now; school-days are ended, and I am acknowledged a young lady, I suppose," thought Leah half-consciously, as she aroused at length from slumber. Then the thought came that it was the last day of Lizzie Heartwell's sojourn in the Queen City; and Leah sprang from her repose with a new and powerful impulse. "I shall spend these last hours with her," she muttered articulately, as she hastily performed the morning's simple toilet. "Yes, I'll tell her my secret, too, though to no living soul have I breathed it yet," she continued audibly, as she adjusted a pin here and there among the dark braids of her hair. At last, smoothing the jetty bands across the fair, oval forehead, she glanced back again to see that the scar--the hated, dreadful scar--was hidden. Then placing a knot of scarlet ribbon amid the delicate lace-work of her snowy morning dress, she languidly descended the stairs and entered the library, where her father sat awaiting her appearance.

Mr. Mordecai was proud of Leah; proud of her attainments at school, gratified with her grade of deportment, and delighted that she had "finished," and with so much credit. As she entered the library, he arose, and clasping her in his arms, imprinted first a good-morning and then a congratulatory kiss upon her face.

"I am proud of my daughter," he said; "proud that no one at Madam Truxton's excelled my own Leah. I am proud of your example to your sisters, and trust they will strive to emulate it."

"Thank you, father. I hope I shall never cause you shame," she replied with tenderness.

During this brief dialogue, the evil-eyed mother had sat an attentive listener, her jealous nature stirred to its depths. Then she said:

"If you are so proud of Leah now, what will you feel when Sarah is through school?"

"Additional happiness, I trust; and following her sister's example, she cannot disappoint papa," said Mr. Mordecai, stroking Sarah upon the head softly, as he arose and led the way to the breakfast table.

The morning repast was finished with more than becoming haste, for Mr. Mordecai had waited to welcome his daughter, and would consequently be late at his bank.

"It's real late," said Leah, as she followed her father from the house. "I hear the Citadel clock striking ten. I must spend the morning with Lizzie." Then donning the light Leghorn hat that gave her a gypsy-like appearance, she started forth toward Rev. Dr. Heartwell's unpretentious house. As she passed block and square that marked the distance, her heart was heavy and her thoughts were sorrowful. She realized that it was perhaps her final leave--taking of her most cherished friend. Her path led past the walls of the dark, gray citadel, and as she cast a glance up toward its turreted heights, and its prison-like windows, she sighed a deep-drawn, heart-felt sigh. And why?

The gentle sea-breeze had arisen, and though it sported with the helpless ribbon upon her bosom, and kissed again and again the crimson cheeks, it could not cool the fires of anxiety and sorrow that burned within her heart. She felt that she was losing much in losing Lizzie Heartwell. And the fear was not an idle one.

Trembling with fatigue and deep-hidden emotion, Leah at length stood